


The Moment

by AnonymousPumpkin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousPumpkin/pseuds/AnonymousPumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You’re a romantic,” she obliged.<br/>Zahrah laughed, a tiny huff. "One can hardly blame me. A full moon, good music, a beautiful woman standing with me on a balcony...I am caught in the romance of the moment." A story of beginnings, of uncertainty, and of giving in to the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moment

**Author's Note:**

> I can't name things for shit. This is a working title. It's a thing I wrote for Femslash February...one of the few things written for that month that didn't suck major tit.
> 
> I have a habit now of writing Bioware femslash at odd hours of the night. One day I'll rework this to not be so shitty but one day is not today.

Music drifted out of the open door, coloring the air. Cassandra frowned off of the balcony. It was a warm night, and only the occasional breeze kept it from being stifling. It had been a long, harrowing night, even _before_ the assassins had shown up. She stood alone, enjoying a few precious moments of silence and solitude. She watched the couples twirling lazily on the pavillion below. The band, a prestigious and ridiculously talented group in whose honor this ball was thrown, colored the entire castle in a romantic light with every twinkling note, but their subtle beauty seemed to be lost on the flashy audience for which they played. The women’s dressed glittered in the light of the moon and torches, and the men complemented their shine with absurd colors and vibrant decorations of feathers and beads. Cassandra tugged at her own, muted imitation of the style, which had gotten her mistaken for a servant or bodyguard several times as the night had gone on.

Footsteps rang out suddenly behind her, proceeded by a heavy sigh she had come to know well in recent months. Cassandra’s heart leapt into her throat, and she turned around just as the Inquisitor ducked through the doorway, closing the door with a heavy sigh the moment she was through it. Her shoulders were bowed, her limbs moving with an exhausted heaviness. She stopped short when she saw Cassandra already on the balcony. Her pale eyes grew wide for a moment and she put up a hand as if protecting herself from imagined ire.

“Oh, sorry…” Her voice was quiet, tired. She took a step back, hand already on the doorknob again. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here...I’ll leave you alone, if you wish.”

“No!” It came out loud and harsh, but it stopped the Inquisitor in her tracks. Cassandra winced and turned completely around to face her. “I mean...you don’t have to leave. The balcony is plenty big enough for the both of us.” She tried to smile, and she probably failed, if the expression she got in return was any indication. “It is hard to find a quiet place in this castle...I have been trying for hours. There is no need to waste time finding another.”

“Ah. How practical of you.”

The Inquisitor...Adaar... _Zahrah_...must have truly been tired for her smile to be so radiant. She always governed her features very sternly. She claimed it was a necessity. Very rarely did her lips do anything more than twitch save for in specific company, which recently did not include Cassandra. She made a concerted effort, they all knew by now, to come off as taciturn and cold, and she withheld her emotions except in the rawest of moments. At one point, she and Cassandra had been close enough that she spoke more, smiled more, even laughed more, but...now she kept her distance, respectful and cool. Cassandra wasn’t entirely convinced now that that was for the best.

Now that she had permission to, Zahrah relaxed. She let out another breath and her entire body seemed to fold into itself. She crossed the balcony in only a few steps, stopping a respectable distance away from Cassandra and wrapping her fingers around the balcony rail. She sighed deeply once, leaned out into the warm open air, and then was silent and still. Cassandra retook her original place on the other side of the balcony, looking down at the dancers once more. The song had changed, something lighter and faster that involved more drunken twirling and...jumping? Laughter drifted up to them, riding the back of the music like an ill-trained racer on a spirited horse. One man in particular had a bark that cut rather rudely through the otherwise romantic haze of the evening. Three too many glasses of wine, she supposed. She could even see him, if she squinted, throwing his head back into his mirth. Either very drunk or very comfortable.

The Inquisition had come here under mostly peaceful circumstances, a favor for a noble who could make or break their reputation in this area. An appearance by the Inquisitor was all that was required, and perhaps a member of her inner circle as well. As they were wont to do, things had taken a turn for the worse only a few hours into the evening, much to Josephine’s chagrin. Twenty-three assassins, four betrayals, two bastard brothers, and a disturbingly relevant cow had all played their parts in the great performance of the night. Zahrah and Josephine had spent every moment they weren’t fighting playing clean-up, charming and intimidating nobles as only they could. Josephine was probably down there still, relishing in The Game she had been away from for so long.

She wished she had thought to bring a glass of wine up here. She normally didn’t care for drinking, but she felt like she would have liked something to take the edge off. It had been a long night, and just now she found she couldn’t concentrate very well.

She tried very hard, but Zahrah’s presence was exceptionally difficult to ignore. In fact, anytime they were in a room together, Cassandra found it difficult to focus on anything else. It wasn’t her size or stature that drew her eye (for she managed to mask herself very well when she needed to), but there was something in her eyes, perhaps, or in the way she held herself, or in the low hums and grunts she contributed to conversation, that caught her attention. Even when she did nothing at all, Cassandra found herself looking at it, for it. It was always there, on the very edge of her vision, a flicker of pale movement. What was it that Sera said? That she _shone_? A reference to the Anchor, no doubt, but an apt observation.

Though there was several feet between them, Cassandra felt warm, as if they were standing close enough to feel the heat of each other’s skin. After a few minutes, her gaze drifted up and right, and she glanced sidelong at the imposing Inquisitor.

Well. Not so imposing tonight. Unlike Cassandra, who wore clothing in the same style as she had to Hilamshiral, Zahrah had submitted to the will of Vivienne and Leliana and worn a dress (and, if rumor held true, very pretty shoes). It was a long, minimalistic, one-shoulder piece, black-and-silver against her dark grey skin, made of silk that shone beneath a layer of delicately beaded lace. One would think it would look absurd on her with her large frame, but whoever had tailored the dress was a master. It hugged her body tightly, drawing attention to a shapely figure that Cassandra had never noticed beneath the armor she normally wore: it was silver where she had curves and black where she had none. A silvery cape was clasped at her shoulders, trailing behind her and giving her an ethereal glow when she moved. Her hair was out of its usual bun, the first time Cassandra had ever seen it such. It was instead twisted about in some strange but elegant style, decorated with dark strings of red jewels and hanging at the back of her neck.

She looked...different. Delicate. Beautiful, even. She sparkled as the other women did because it was the fashion at the moment, though much like Cassandra she was very muted comparatively. _Un_ like Cassandra, however, the shine did not subtract from her appeal. Though she glittered less brilliantly than the other women at the ball, she seemed to shine far brighter than any of them, especially when the light fell on her just so… Once Cassandra looked at her once, she found it hard to look away.

Quite suddenly, Zahrah sighed and pushed herself up straight. She shook her head once, as if trying to shake away dark thoughts. Cassandra hurriedly turned her eyes away.

“You know,” she started, drumming her fingers on the balcony, “when I took on the title ‘Inquisitor’, I didn’t think it involved going to so many _parties_.” There was amusement in her voice, but she sounded so _tired_. She had almost been excited to come, Cassandra remembered, if for no other reason to see a place other than the same warring areas they’d visited of late. Though a party was a frivolous thing and hardly the kind of entertainment she seemed inclined to enjoy, it was a respite from the pressure, the fighting, and the neverending demand that came of being the leader of the Inquisition. Cassandra understood that.

Of course, her duty could not be escaped so easily and the night had been spent inevitably at “work”. Zahrah had probably had less time to relax than Cassandra...which somehow made it all the more touching that she had elected to stay in her presence right now. Barely an hour ago, they had been cutting down enemies side by side, struggling to keep their attackers suppressed without disturbing the party.

As Cassandra thought these things, she saw the same thoughts and darker reflected in Zahrah’s eyes. She rushed to fill the silence that had fallen on them, almost desperate to lighten the mood. “I am amazed at your ability to get so much done in that dress,” she managed to say, turning away again. “You managed to fight off the assassins without getting it the slightest bit bloody.”

Zahrah chuckled, a low and rare sound. It was a strange laugh she had, genuinely mirthful but made without a smile. It was more like heavy breathing than true laughter, though Cassandra had concrete proof and witnesses that she was capable of both. “Well, I am a talented woman,” Zahrah boasted. She looked down at her dress, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. She ran her hands over the clean silver admiringly. Cassandra watched her fingers slide over the fabric, wondering how she managed to stash weapons under a dress that clung so well to her body…

“Your clothes are immaculate as well,” Zahrah pointed out as well, “and you fought the assassin’s too.” Her eyes roamed over Cassandra as thoroughly as Cassandra’s had her moments ago, and an unfamiliar heat flushed its way through her core.

In a stunning display of her lack of tact, Cassandra changed the subject. “I would think you would be down there still,” she admitted, turning her eyes away to look again over the rail. The view was no less romantic now than it had been before. It wasn’t helping her pounding heart. “You seemed to enjoy watching the dancers well enough before.”

Zahrah turned her eyes away, and Cassandra would’ve sworn there was a flush in her cheeks. To say that she had _enjoyed_ the dancing would be an understatement of epic proportions. She had watched the dancefloor with eyes so large they’d rivalled the moon, biting the inside of her lip as she warred with her desire to move as they did. Now her eyes flashed down there momentarily, and there was a flash of something. That longing was again on her face. It was gone quickly, and she shook her head.

“Well. Gaping like a child loses its appeal after a while,” she said, turning away. “And I doubt I could find a partner to actually dance with me. I am fairly certain I scare most of them too badly.”

“Nonsense,” Cassandra dismissed her concerns, even physically waving her hand as if to push them away. “I am sure there are plenty who would dance with you if you asked.” Doubtless, there was a _line_ of willing partners. Although her size may have intimidated them at first, Zahrah had already proven herself genteel enough (something that never failed to surprise) for even the most conservative of nobles to accept, and she had proven a stalwart ally to the house and its guests, and to be seen dancing with her surely would boost one’s reputation… “You are the Inquisitor, after all.”

The look on Zahrah’s face cut that line of thought off short. “The Inquisitor…” she repeated, but she spit the word out like it tasted foul. “I don’t want someone to dance with me because I’m the _Inquisitor_.” Although she didn’t move, Cassandra got the impression that she was moving closer; she could feel heat on her skin again, as if they were standing skin to skin. “Call me romantic, but I would prefer that someone that would dance with me because I’m _me_.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You’re a romantic,” she obliged.

Zahrah laughed, a tiny huff. “One can hardly blame me. A full moon, good music, a beautiful woman standing with me on a balcony...I am caught in the romance of the moment.” She was facing Cassandra completely now, leaning one hip against the balcony. Her head was tilted to one side and her hair fell into her face, and the moon and torches illuminated her face just so she looked for a moment like a heroine in a fantasy, full of secrets and passions and fancies. There was an emotion in her eyes that darkened them, and Cassandra couldn’t name it.

No. Cassandra knew exactly what emotion it was. She could not plead ignorance now. She’d seen it so often in Zahrah’s eyes that she could scarcely imagine them without it any longer. It was more obvious when she thought Cassandra wasn’t looking and she let it soften her face. It was that thing Cassandra fled, the thing she had rejected. It made her look...beautiful. More beautiful. It was adoration, admiration, affection. It was terrifying.

They stared at each other a moment, each woman absorbed in her own thoughts. Cassandra was as surprised as Zahrah when she lifted her hand, palms up and fingers out. She wasn’t sure where she found the confidence, but her voice didn’t shake at all when she spoke.

“Would you give me the honor of a dance, Lady Adaar?”

Zahrah’s shock was plain on her face. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in a tiny o!. She regained her composure slowly, and her voice shook when she let out another breathy laugh. “Lady Adaar?” she repeated incredulously, but she took a step forward hesitantly.

“Of course.”

Cassandra felt something stir in her chest, something quivering and excited, when Zahrah finally lifted her hand. She was surprised at how well their hands fit together; there was not as dramatic a size difference as one would expect. Her palms felt charged where Zahrah’s skin slid over hers.

For a full minute they just stood there still as statues, hand in hand, poised as if standing on the edge of a cliff, the only sound coming from the soft music from the pavillion below. Then, jerkily, awkwardly, they moved forward, a slow and uncertain coordination of limbs and capes and sashes. Cassandra took deep, steadying breaths, not dwelling at all on the proximity of them and how she could hear the sigh in Zahrah’s every exhale. Her heart beat furiously. It was with great thought and deliberation that she made the first move, pulling Zahrah slowly to the notes.

The dances Cassandra had danced up until this night had all been awkward at-arms-length affairs, forced onto her by people with their own interests at heart. She had despised them, and remembered them as cringeworthy and awkward things, suffering from a fatal lack of intimacy or grace or trust. For the first few moments, this dance was much the same. Something was not right. Zahrah held her at a distance and her arms were stiff. Her face was stone cold, but the effort it took to keep it that way was evident in her eyes. That affection in her eyes warred with agony and indecision. On one hand, Cassandra wanted to sigh at her, to shake her head in exasperation at her obvious intention to keep them apart, but on the other she knew it was her own doing that she felt it was necessary. She had known of the Inquisitor’s affection for her, and had done little in response. She was not entirely sure what to do, but she had not admitted that either.

“I am not going to run screaming like a child if you hold me, Inquis...Zahrah.” Her tone was chiding and light, too light.

“Won’t you?” With a sudden forceful movement, Zahrah shoved Cassandra away, forcing her into a twirl. Her head spun and she nearly tripped, but when she came back, Zahrah’s arms were around her, supporting her. They stood completely still. Even the music seemed to have faded away and the laughter and conversation below momentarily died down. It was if the entire world was watching them with bated breath, eager to see the conclusion of this fateful moment. The thought made her flush and she almost looked around to make sure they didn’t have an audience.

For a moment, Cassandra wasn’t sure how to respond. She hadn’t thought this far ahead (truth be told, she hadn’t thought this out at _all_ ). She had simply wanted to ease for a moment the weight on Zahrah’s shoulders, to see that small smile on her face again, or to hear the quiet huff of her laughter, or to see that shine in her eyes that had faded.

They were not quite still anymore, for neither of them could bear to stay motionless in the tension. They swayed slowly, not quite in sync, and she took advantage of their inactivity to slide her fingers in between Zahrah’s. They fit so neatly together, and she swore she could feel the Vashoth’s heart beating through her palm. She heard her breathe in, holding the breath and her hope deep in her chest to flourish or perish. The question still hunt in the air between them.

_Won’t you?_

She looked not at Zahrah’s face but at their entwined hands, which looked all the world as if they had been made for each other. “I won’t,” she said, forcing everything she was unable to articulate into those two words. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and looked up.

Zahrah’s eyes seemed to take up everything. They were two bright lights in a dark dark sky, and just now they held something pitifully fragile, a hope and a desire she would never again speak aloud. Her fingers tightened around Cassandra’s, and she didn’t seem to be breathing, still holding that wild hope within. Their faces were so close, their chests almost pressed together, and Cassandra could taste the scent of wood and earth and spices that always clung to Zahrah. It made her head feel light and her lips parted. She was close enough to count the freckles on her cheeks, faint white spots like stars that had been sprinkled across her face. She could see the countless small scars that had faded with the years, one across her cheek and one across the bridge of her nose and one on her forehead. She was so entranced, memorizing all of these tiny details she had never seen before, that she almost didn’t even feel the soft, brief caress of Zahrah’s fingers, which brushed her jaw for a fraction of a second before she remembered herself.

Anxiety had started to rise up in Cassandra as they stood there longer. She felt almost tempted to remove herself completely from the situation, but her legs did not obey her half-hearted commands. “I am not very good at this…” she started to protest, though she may no move to get away. Her voice was soft.

“Good at...what, Lady Seeker?” Zahrah spoke hardly louder than a breath.

Cassandra hesitated. Every answer that came to mind was dangerous and loaded, and she feared that if she spoke them, Zahrah would pull away, remove her arm from Cassandra’s waist and pull apart their hands and leave her standing there alone.

“...dancing.” The answer seemed lame. She rushed to explain herself, “I never cared for it when I was younger, and as a Seeker, one hardly needs to cultivate the skill. I fear I will not be very adept at much more than...rhythmic swaying. ”

“I will have to teach you, then.” Zahrah’s mouth twitched. “When we get back to Skyhold, perhaps. For now...swaying is fine.”

It was with less uncertainty this time that they began to move. The music had picked up again, a gentle and slow song. The balcony was lit with soft romantic light from the moon. The faint sounds of the party drifted lazily through the half-closed door behind them, soft giggles and gossips in thick accents. Zahrah’s hand fell to settle on Cassandra’s waist, and this time it was she who tugged her partner into place. She moved with confidence now, falling into rhythm easily as if she had danced to this song a thousand times. When she stepped away, Cassandra found her feet following just as easily. She trusted Zahrah completely. Her heart was pounding wildly in her throat, but it didn’t feel like fear any longer.

This time...this time, the dance was not awkward. After the first fumbling steps, her body forgot its discomfort and inexperience. She felt almost graceful. She followed Zahrah almost without need to be led, spinning until the world faded away to a blur of muted colors and soft notes that evoked something warm inside her. Every hurt and annoyance was forgotten, for there was no room for anything inside her except the song. With every swell and decline in the song, their bodies shifted in time. Eventually, even the music faded away, and all Cassandra had was the rhythm of their breaths and beating hearts, and the soft pull of Zahrah’s arms.

They had shifted closer, closer, as they’d danced. It was no illusion now, the heat on her skin that curled in her stomach and made her want to gasp for air. Their chests were pressed together and Cassandra could feel the shift in her blood as her heart slowed to match the pace of Zahrah’s. Their faces were mere breaths apart. She could see the tiny spots of blue and green in Zahrah’s eyes, so remote one could not see them unless their lips were all but pressed to her skin.

Zahrah’s lips moved, her voice thunder on a distant horizon, promising the respite of a storm. Cassandra could barely hear the words she said, spoken to the same unrelenting rise and fall of the song she could no longer hear. It was not quite a song. The words were gentle and intoxicating, promises of things that could not be promised and glimpses of things she didn’t yet have. She spoke raw prose and structured affection, a poem not yet penned. She spoke very low, or perhaps Cassandra’s mind was too far away to hear. She may even have actually been singing, but Cassandra wouldn’t have known it. All she knew was that her voice washed over her like a welcome breeze on a hot night and that her arms were around her as if she was something more precious than words could describe and that her heart had taken hold of hers in a manner she had only seen described in epics surviving centuries.

They began to slow and as the world began to creep back into existence Cassandra realized the music was ending. Zahrah’s voice faded away as well, leaving only a heavy silence neither was willing to break. They circled one more time and were still. Neither woman moved, neither closer nor farther away. There was a fragile bliss, a cautious hope for _something_ in Cassandra’s chest, built out of thin glass and supported by fraying strings, and she was sure that if she moved a muscle, it would shatter.

It was a thoughtless, natural movement to lift her head that small distance, to raise herself up on the balls of her feet. Her heart pounded in her fingertips and in the very back of her mind, she was screaming at herself to stop before she did something foolish, but she ignored her own warning. She had always been the one charging forward, taking what was necessary before it was gone. She was poor with words, but her actions often spoke for her when her tongue failed.

The kiss was brief and chaste, and was proceeded quickly by several many more. After the first, Zahrah initiated every single one. Each was sweet and short, like a cautionary dance with an opponent, and she kept at it until their lips slid together perfectly. In that instant there was a spark like hot metal on the tip of Cassandra’s tongue, and she gasped. Zahrah kissed her until the feeling in Cassandra’s chest was threatening to burst from her. When she pulled away Zahrah left a part of herself on Cassandra’s bottom lip, a sliver of ice that burned for a moment and sunk into her skin.

Another song had started, and without thinking, they began to sway with it, faces close and hands twisted together. Cassandra knew there would be a time for questions, for clarification, for defining precisely what this thing was that was suspended in her ribcage, but the moment, she let herself fall into the romance of the moment.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really gay wow


End file.
